


Underneath Your Clothes

by Five678Patty



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Edging, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Patrick is a troll, Post-Season/Series Finale, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Skirt Appreciation, Sort Of, Teasing, Wedding Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23837770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Five678Patty/pseuds/Five678Patty
Summary: Coda to S06E14 Happy Ending. Patrick really likes David’s wedding suit. And he’s determined to show his husband just how much.“Have I told you how much I like your kilt?” he says as he moves his hand down David’s thigh, seeking the hem of said garment.“Um, actually, this is a pleated—,” David’s voice hitches as Patrick’s hand finds its way into David’s boxer briefs, “—skirt, not a kilt.”“Oh, well I guess that explains the underwear,” he grins.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 67
Kudos: 222





	1. When the friends are gone, when the party's over

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete. I’ll be posting a new chapter each day.
> 
> Content warning: The ‘happy ending’ is referenced in this chapter, briefly and light-heartedly, at about the halfway point. The mention doesn’t cause any distress to either Patrick or David.

Patrick wakes to the early afternoon sun filtering through the windows and his husband (his husband!) pressed warmly against him. He spends a moment taking it all in, committing it to memory. The sight of dark hair and stubbled jawline; the sounds of even breaths as his hand rises and falls against David’s chest; the scent of David’s cologne as it mingles with his musk, a smell that is uniquely his alone; the taste of sweat as he kisses the back of David’s neck just below his hairline; the feel of David’s body, snug against his own. He lies there appreciating this quiet moment of waking up for the first time as a married man with his husband in his arms. His _afternoon_ wood makes itself known as Patrick tightens his grip on his new husband, his little spoon, and pulls himself closer. He juts his hips slightly chasing the feeling as he drops more kisses to the back of David’s neck.

David stirs. “What time is it?” He grumbles and then groans when Patrick tells him. “That’s not nearly enough sleep.” He executes the frustrated variant of a patented David Rose Shimmy™ that, without fail, does things to Patrick when implemented fully clothed, vertical and meters from his own person. Here, in bed, horizontal and wearing what remains of their wedding suits, it lights Patrick up. 

“Mmm, do that again,” he says as he pushes his cock against his husband’s ass. David obliges. Patrick’s hand trails down David’s chest from underneath his white dress shirt and comes to rest on David’s hip. Again, he rolls his hips against David. “Have I told you how much I like your kilt?” he says as he moves his hand down David’s thigh, seeking the hem of said garment.

“Um, actually, this is a pleated—,” David’s voice hitches as Patrick’s hand finds its way into David’s boxer briefs, “—skirt, not a kilt.”

“Oh, well I guess that explains the underwear,” he grins. “I suppose it would have been _incorrect_ to free-ball at our wedding.” David lets his head fall back as he savors the feeling of his husband’s hand on him. “Although,” Patrick continues, kissing the newly exposed expanse of neck. “Unless I’m mistaken, Scots have been doing just that,” his hand cups and lightly squeezes David’s balls, “...for centuries.” 

“Um…yes…fuck…that, ah…that would’ve been…very incorrect.” David struggles with the sentence as Patrick’s fingers continue their exploration.

“Would it, though?” Patrick asks. “It certainly would’ve allowed easy access for all the things I wanted to do to you in that outfit.”

“Like, what things?” 

Patrick removes his hand from David’s underwear and reaches for the lube in the drawer of the bedside table. He slicks his hand and resumes his position tucked in behind David, his hand reaching under the skirt. 

“Well, things like when I really wanted to slip my hand under the table during the reception and show you just how happy an ending I could give you.” The laugh on David’s lips disappears as Patrick takes him in hand and begins making slow dreamy strokes along his shaft. David relaxes into the feeling of Patrick and lets a soft moan escape his lips. “Close your eyes, David. Let me set the scene. The Jazzagals are on stage–”

“What?” David’s eyes fly open and he turns his head to look at Patrick. “The Jazzagals are on stage? You wanted to give me a handy while my _mother_ sang to us?”

“Not exactly.” Patrick laughs. “I wanted to get my hands on you the second I saw you in that suit and the Jazzagals’ performance was the first time that everyone else’s attention was not on us. Now close your eyes,” he says as he thumbs at the slit of David’s cock. 

David huffs but closes his eyes.

“The Jazzagals are on stage and they’re less than a minute into their 90s pop diva medley when I slip my hand under the table and beneath the hem of your kilt.” Patrick draws out the single syllable of the last word and whispers it into his husband’s ear. “My hand is slicked with body milk from one of the sample bottles we gave our guests as wedding favors.”

David hums, satisfaction rolling from the sound. Patrick half wonders if it’s because of the hand job or the thought of those petite glass bottles filled with a one-off signature scent that David declared perfectly on-brand for their nuptials.

“You made the _very_ correct choice not to wear any underwear,” Patrick purrs into David’s ear, “so I have complete unfettered access to your _wedding tackle._ ” David’s groan at the euphemism turns into a moan as Patrick quickens the pace stopping every few strokes to pay attention to the head of his cock.

“All eyes are on the stage except yours. They widen in surprise and you turn towards me as I wrap my hand around your big, beautiful cock.” 

“Jesus, fuck, Patrick.” 

“I drop a kiss just below your jaw,” Patrick kisses said location to illustrate the point, “before grazing your earlobe with my teeth.” Patrick bites down, “...and I whisper into your ear just how much I like your _kilt_.” He emphasizes the word. 

“And I… _fuck_ … I tell you it’s… ah… actually a skirt.”

“Hmm, a pleated skirt, apparently. We banter a little, in hushed voices, about the fact that it’s surely a kilt given your lack of underwear and then I do that thing you like—” Patrick does the thing, “and you let out a stifled moan—” David moans. “Yeah, like that…only quieter.”

David is writhing now, fighting the need to fuck up into Patrick’s hand. 

“I say, ‘Eyes in front, David. You’re missing the show,’ and you turn towards the stage. You angle your chair so that you can lean against me, your new husband. I slide my unoccupied hand over your shoulder and rest it there as I drop another kiss on your neck. And to anyone who may glance away from the stage, we look like newlyweds in a casual embrace. No one is the wiser as my hand under the table takes you apart. As it strokes your big gorgeous cock until you come for me.”

“Jesus. Fuck, Patrick.” 

“I’ll have a napkin on my lap and when I feel you rushing towards climax, I’ll have it at the ready to catch your release, timed to perfection, the ringing applause of the crowd drowning out the soft muffled gasp that will leave your perfect mouth.”

David thrusts against Patrick’s tight grip when suddenly the hand is gone. 

“Patrick,” David whines, “I’m so close.” 

“Oh, I know. We’re gonna have to do something about that.” Patrick sits up and squeezes David’s shaft right below the head, easing him back from climax.

“What happened to me coming to the sound of ringing applause? This would have been one worthy of a standing ovation. Some of your best work.” 

“I mean, sure, we could do that, but then I wouldn’t get to show you all the other things I wanted to do to you in that kilt.”

“Oh,” David says. “I guess we could do that.”

Patrick gives his husband a look that speaks volumes. Of love and lust. “Trust me, this is just the beginning.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big shout out goes to BiblioPan for suggesting a writing date. Over the course of three of these dates, I wrote the bulk of what became this smutty ode to David’s skirt. _So, thank you for making that happen for us!_ Thank you for being an awesome friend, beta and all round excellent human. 
> 
> And to Pants for being a constant cheerleader. Your advice and friendship is so valued. I feel very privileged to have you in my corner and for offering your much sought-after beta skills when I’m sure you’ve got better things to be doing than reading my smut. <3 
> 
> The fic and chapter titles are from “Underneath Your Clothes” by Shakira.


	2. You’re a song written by the hands of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He takes in the sight of his husband, delectable in his wedding clothes. The line of the garment is disturbed only by the tenting from David’s cock. 
> 
> “So, tell me, what else did you want to do to me in this skirt?”

“Roll over,” Patrick says. “I want you on your back.”

David rolls over. His tight white cotton boxers have been pushed low, his exposed cock looking like an absolute snack. Patrick nudges David’s legs apart and kneels between them. He wipes the lube from his hand onto his own shirt and starts unbuttoning the white fabric.

Patrick watches as David’s face goes through a journey and registers it landing on concern. He leans forward and kisses away the frown lines from his husband’s forehead. “Don’t worry, it’s the water-based lube, and I figured better my shirt than your kilt, right?”

“It’s a pleated skirt,” David says, his smile tucking into one corner of his lips. Enjoying the game. 

“Hmm,” Patrick hums as he undoes the rest of his buttons and slides the shirt from his body. He uses it to wipe the remaining lube from David’s cock. David’s hips buck at the touch and Patrick smiles. 

“I can think of a different way you could’ve got that lube off.” David raises one of his eyebrows. “And you wouldn’t have had to ruin your wedding shirt.”

“All in good time, David.” Patrick throws the messed-up shirt to one side, wipes his formerly lubed hand against his trousers (for good measure), then proceeds to remove David’s underwear which joins Patrick’s discarded shirt on the floor. He reaches for the hem of David’s skirt, now bunched around his stomach, and pulls it down towards David’s knees. He takes in the sight of his husband, delectable in his wedding clothes. The line of the garment is disturbed only by the tenting from David’s cock. 

“So, tell me, what else did you want to do to me in this skirt?”

Patrick leans forward, drops his weight onto his husband and takes David’s face between his hands. His thumbs rub against the stubble of David’s five o’clock shadow before drawing their lips together for a searing kiss, open mouthed and with the promise of so much more to come.

When they break apart, Patrick runs his lips along the stubble, stopping first to drop a kiss along David’s jawline, and then to say, “You were dancing—” His lips return to David’s jaw and David moans as Patrick’s lips find their way to his ear.

“—And I was caught in conversation with Bob.” 

“Ew! Do not mention Bob while you’re doing that to me.” He rolls his hips and Patrick laughs momentarily before licking the shell of David’s ear.

“Stevie spun you and your kilt—”

“Skirt.”

“—billowed giving me just a peek of your thigh.”

“Oh, yeah? Did you like what you saw?” 

“Mmhmm, it took every ounce of self-control not to drag you from the dance floor right then and there to have my way with you in the closest washroom.”

“And what would you have done to me inside that washroom?”

“I would have pushed you up against the closed door, leaned in, and told you just how much I liked your kilt.” Patrick trails kissed down David’s neck.

“I expect I would have corrected you?”

“Hmm, that seems likely,” he replies before his teeth find a home against David’s neck, biting a bruise below his collar as David moans and runs his fingernails down Patrick’s back. Patrick pulls away, drawing himself back to kneeling between David’s legs. He runs his fingers down the fabric of David’s now very rumpled, white button-down shirt. 

“Once we’d cleared up that misunderstanding, I would have dropped to my knees, lifted your kilt and, marveled at your gorgeous—and not at all encumbered by underwear—cock before taking it into my mouth.” Patrick smirks, shuffles back, drops to his stomach, lifts David’s skirt and lays the upturned fabric against his midsection. He kisses a trail back down between David’s legs and brings his lips to David’s cock, licking salaciously around the head.

Suddenly, Patrick’s tongue is gone and is instead engaged in an altogether different but equally enticing form of teasing. “I would have started with a slow pace—” he says, before returning his tongue to David’s cock and tasting the pre-come from the slit, “—bobbing my head up and down this big, strong, beautiful thing—” He licks a line from base back up to the tip. The pauses Patrick takes for talking would be maddening had the words falling from his husband’s mouth not themselves been such a fucking turn-on. “We would be holding each other’s eye contact.” Patrick continues, looking deep into his husband’s eyes, his hand stroking David as he speaks. He keeps their eyes locked as he takes the head into his mouth, his tongue swirling and his hand continuing to stroke along the exposed shaft, drawing out a rapturous string of expletives from David. 

David, for his part, could not have looked away had he wanted to, transfixed by his husband. Patrick lets David’s cock slip from his lips, his hand maintaining movement, and says, “Then I would have let go of your kilt, and made you see stars.” Patrick takes David’s entire length into his warm inviting throat, his lips, red and stretched, their eye contact only breaking when Patrick reaches for the hem of the skirt and pulls it down over his head. 

“Jesus. Fuck,” David says as Patrick begins to work his cock, the movement of his head underneath the skirt expanding the pleats as he rises. The head of David’s cock is all that’s left in Patrick’s mouth before he sinks down again, filling his throat. The pleats of David’s skirt sit—for a brief moment—not entirely, but almost, flat. David’s hands fist around the bed sheet as he watches the pleats fall and rise.

Just before the promised stars begin to form on the horizon _._ Patrick lets David fall from his mouth. He crawls out from under the skirt and smiles at his thoroughly wrecked-looking husband. “And then, I would have sucked you dry—every last drop you gave me would have run warm down my throat.”

David lets out a reedy moan.

“And after, I’d have asked you to dance.”

David looks down at Patrick, lying between his legs amid the chaotic folds in his skirt, looking far too pleased with himself. He’s struggling to put together coherent thought because all he wants to do is beg his husband to put those smug teasing lips back on his cock and make him come. He looks deeply into the eyes staring back at him and puts every faculty he has into communicating this need with his face and a single word. “Please?”

Patrick drops a quick kiss to the soft skin of David’s inner thigh then pokes the outer thigh with his index finger, coaxing David to move. “Not yet,” he says, “But soon. Now turn over and get on your knees. I’m going to tell you how I wanted to bend you over the dessert table.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I know. David wears black underwear. (So says literally every other fic in existence.) I would have loved to dress him in some fancy black underwear. I promise you, I tried to make that happen. (So says my extensive Google image search history.) But, since David was dressed in Thom Browne for his wedding (down to his socks!), it seemed like the _correct_ decision was to dress him in Thom Browne underwear as well. So, I went with the following pair of [ white boxer briefs. ](https://www.thombrowne.com/dk/shopping/white-cotton-boxer-short-12508800)
> 
> I’ll also alert you to the arrows and suggest you toggle between the front, side, back and magnified views. Purely for research purposes, of course. 😉


	3. I love you more than all that’s on the planet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, tell me about the dessert table.”
> 
> “Let’s just say the image of you standing there—all sexy in your wedding suit—licking buttercream frosting from your fingers after you smooshed wedding cake into my mouth. . .Well, I’m not going to be forgetting that visual anytime soon.”
> 
> “Mmm, that was good cake,” David smiles.

After a little more cajoling from Patrick, and a moment for his breathing to return to normal, David rolls over and kneels in the center of the mattress. Patrick shuffles forward to kneel behind him, their bodies pressed together, one arm around David’s waist drawing him closer while the other slides under his skirt, gliding his strong hand over David’s thigh. Patrick’s clothed erection rubs against David’s ass. As much as he’s teasing David with these scenarios, Patrick also feels a growing need to make both David and himself come, soon, for the first time as husbands. But trolling David, as it often does, takes priority and Patrick steels his resolve. David turns his head and they kiss, charged with electricity. David reaches one hand behind Patrick, finding his butt cheek, pressing him closer. He wiggles his ass against Patrick’s cock as he reaches his other hand behind Patrick’s head, deepening the kiss. Patrick slips his hand circling David’s waist underneath the white fabric of this shirt, running his hands over the expanse of bare skin.

David breaks the kiss and drops his hand from behind Patrick’s neck. “So, tell me about the dessert table.”

“Let’s just say the image of you standing there—all sexy in your wedding suit—licking buttercream frosting from your fingers after you smooshed wedding cake into my mouth. . .Well, I’m not I’m going to be forgetting that visual anytime soon.”

“Mmm, that was good cake,” David smiles.

“If I could’ve, I would have wished the entire town raptured away, leaving me and you, in our wedding suits with that cake.”

“And what would we have done? You and me? And that cake?”

“I would have stood behind you and pulled you against my body.”

“That sounds nice.” David presses back against Patrick’s body, against his hard cock, and grins at the desperate sounds falling from Patrick’s mouth. “And what would you have done next?”

Patrick composes himself, places both hands on David’s hips then demonstrates his next words. “I would have run my hands down your thighs, over the fabric until I reached the hem.”

“Mmm, that feels nice.” David rolls his head to the side as Patrick runs his blunt fingernails down the fabric against his thighs, creating ripples of pleasure through his body.

“And then as my fingers breach the hemline, I’d whisper into your ear—”

David turns and smiles at his husband. “Let me guess, you like my pleated skirt?”

“Hmm, something like that.” Patrick kisses David, his tongue exploring as his fingers glide from fabric to hirsute skin before starting their ascent back up David’s thigh. 

“I’d run my hands back up your naked thighs to discover that’s not the only thing naked underneath your kilt—”

“Skirt.”

“—then I’d take hold of your cock and coax it to attention.” 

David laughs, short and low. “I’m _very_ sure we can skip that step.” 

“Even if that step included buttercream frosting?” Patrick kisses his neck and David’s sharp intake of breath tells him everything needs to know. 

“I’m not _not_ interested in that option,” he says. “So much as you already have my full attention.”

"Noted,” Patrick says. “In that case, I guess you won’t want to hear about how I’d run my fingers through the frosting and—” Patrick trails off letting David fill in the blank.

“Fuuuucck,” David exhales as he grinds his ass against Patrick, imagining any number of plausible scenarios. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to make me come just with your words.”

Patrick laughs. “That’ll be my next trick.”

“So, what would you do next?”

“Next, I’d reach into my pocket,” his actions mirroring his words, “and pull out a condom.” Patrick throws a square packet onto the bed. “Then I’d remove my pants.” 

“About fucking time.” David says as the warm press of Patrick’s body is replaced with cool air. Patrick hops off the bed and David watches over his shoulder as Patrick undoes his pants and lets them drop to the floor. He comes to stand at the edge of the bed, naked, cock erect and ready. He gestures ’c’mere’ with his index finger and David shuffles backwards towards the edge of the mattress.

“Next, I’d bend you over the table, lift your kilt and prepare you for my cock.” Patrick guides David into the new position he wants him in. David leans forward, resting his forearms and forehead on the mattress, his ass, still covered by the longer asymmetrical fabric of the rear skirt panel, is lifted high and on display. “God, you are so fucking beautiful” Patrick says in wonder, staring at his husband’s skirted form in front of him. He stands behind him and runs his hands up the backs of David’s thighs, lifting the skirt as he goes. He flips the skirt up over David’s waist and leans forward, maneuvering the front of the skirt under David’s elbows. David lifts them, recognizing Patrick’s attempt to keep the garment out of the firing line. 

Then, Patrick drops to his knees, places a hand on each of David’s hips and nips at one of David’s ass cheeks. “Next, I’d circle your hole with my finger, whisper-soft and barely there.” Patrick parts David’s ass cheeks and David moans as his husband’s warm, wet tongue makes contact with his rim, circling it in place of the finger he spoke of. Patrick stills his tongue to speak again. “Then I’d let that finger enter you. . . opening you slowly. . . pushing in past the second knuckle. . . until you take it completely. . . until you’re writhing with want. . . fucking yourself on it. . . taking me as deep inside you as I possibly can reach.” David shakes with pleasure as Patrick’s nimble tongue circles and teases and pushes past his rim. The dichotomy between the words and Patrick’s actions—of his tongue as it expertly swirls, and sucks, and probes during the pauses in his sentences about fingers and fucking— sends messages previously unknown to each of David’s pleasure centers. 

David is both on edge and completely blissed out as his brand-new husband miraculously finds brand-new ways to surprise him. Patrick continues to describe his preparation process to David. The introduction of the second finger, the scissoring, the well-practiced curling of fingers against his prostate and finally the addition of the third finger. All the while, alternating with words, Patrick’s tongue continues to work at pulling the most exquisite sounds from his husband who is rocking back against the pressure and intrusion of it. From his husband who is begging for more, more, more. 

“Once your gorgeous self is ready. . . I’ll roll on the condom. . . apply more lube. . . and push into your tight. . . sexy. . . hole.” 

“Jesus. Fuck,” David cries out after that final pause when Patrick pushes his tongue in as far as it will reach. His lips a seal over the rim. 

“I fill you up. . . You feel so good around me, David. . . You take me so well. . . You watch as the tiers of our wedding cake teeter precariously. . . as the table shakes under the force of my thrust. . . You’re screaming my name each time I pound into you. . . And I’m crying yours. . . David. . . David. . . David.” The combination of the words and the thorough tonguing turns David non-verbal. He is putty in Patrick’s hands. He has ceased to exist on this plane. He is on fire. His nerve endings are zinging. He is so, so, so fucking in love with this man.

Patrick slows his tongue. “And then I reach under your skirt. . . and stroke your cock. . . and we both come together. . . me deep inside you. . . and you in my fist.” Patrick places a gentle kiss to David’s sensitive hole.

David slumps forwards, panting. His cock is throbbing and he aches to touch it, to make himself come. “Please, Patrick.” David turns, looking over his shoulder. “Please make me come.” Patrick kisses his hole again. Softly.

“Okay,” Patrick says. “Turn over, I want to see your face when I make my _husband_ come for the first time. 

At some point during the ministrations of Patrick’s diligent tongue (not that David was in a state to notice anything other than the sparks coursing through his own body) one of Patrick’s hands dropped from David’s ass cheek, to his own hole. His fingers had opened himself by doing most of the preparations he had just described doing to his husband. 

He wipes the lube from his fingers onto the discarded shirt and lets it drop to the floor just as David turns to face him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will be _coming_ soon. . . as will David. 😉
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3


	4. There’s an endless story. There’s the man I chose.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I get to call you my husband.” He leans forwards capturing Patrick’s lips in another kiss. They linger in the moment, in the slow soft kiss, in the eternity of it.
> 
> “Okay,” Patrick says when they come up for air. “I’m going to need you back up on the bed.” He stands. “Head up on the pillow please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: There is a brief reference to the ‘happy ending’ from S06E14 in this chapter. Much like in chapter one, this chapter’s reference doesn’t cause any distress to either Patrick or David.

“I’m going to make you come so hard, David. I promise,” Patrick says, as he reaches up and pulls David down into a searing kiss. “But if we want either of us to last more than 30 seconds, let’s just take a minute, yeah?”

David laughs and looks down at his throbbing cock, its head peeking out amongst the folds of his rucked-up skirt. “I think 30 seconds is being generous at this point,” he says. His gaze falls to Patrick, naked, on his knees in front of him. He smiles fondly at the man. “I can’t believe I get to call you my husband.” He leans forwards capturing Patrick’s lips in another kiss. They linger in the moment, in the slow soft kiss, in the eternity of it.

“Okay,” Patrick says when they come up for air. “I’m going to need you back up on the bed.” He stands. “Head up on the pillow please.”

David wills his arousal to subside a little, enough so he can last for Patrick. He scooches up the bed and lays down, drawing his knees to his chest, presenting his hole to Patrick. “I believe you said something about me screaming your name as you pounded into me?”

Patrick smirks. “Drop your legs, David.” He taps his thigh and David does as directed, laying them straight out in front of him. 

Patrick hops onto the bed, a knee on either side of David. He situates himself at about David’s knees and he leans forward, pulling the hem down, straightening the skirt. He playfully pokes at David’s sides to get him to raise his hips so he can straighten the fabric at the back of the skirt as well. He smooths it flat under David’s butt and thighs. David drops back down onto the mattress.

Patrick’s eyes rake over David’s body from his fucked-out hair, to his expressive and stubbled face. Down his rumpled white wedding shirt to the black skirt that has driven Patrick crazy since the moment the curtain parted in Town Hall yesterday afternoon. 

He returns his gaze to David’s face and smiles. 

“Have I told you how much I like your—”

David rolls his eyes.

“—Thom Browne classic-rise knee-length pleated skirt with dropped rear hem, signature tri-color striped trim and a buttoned tab on the back?” Patrick grins.

A smile splits David’s face and his eyes light up. “And here I was almost convinced I’d been wearing a kilt this whole time.”

“This? A kilt? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s made in Italy.” Patrick runs his hands up David’s bare thighs, the skirt bunching up the further Patrick’s hands progress until finally he pulls the fabric up and clear of David cock, erect and waiting.

“Did you know?” David asks, pausing briefly, his face questioning. Patrick thinks he almost looks disappointed. “That I’d be wearing this skirt, I mean?”

“Nope.” Patrick answers honestly. 

“Then how did you know it was Thom Browne?”

“David, one doesn’t spend every day for over two years in your company and not learn a little something about fashion.” Patrick reaches for the condom laying on the bed sheets where he threw it earlier while he had David bent over the ‘dessert table’.

“I couldn’t help but notice you had that condom in your suit pants? Any particular reason you were carrying that around on your wedding day?” David raises an eyebrow and smirks. 

“Mmhmm.” Patrick nods. “I had hoped I’d get to spend a little alone time with my husband at the reception—” 

“So, I’ve heard. Quite extensively.”

“—And I thought it would be _incorrect_ and _off-brand_ for my come to run down his legs after we’d consummated our marriage.” 

“Hmm. It’s a shame you never got the chance to use it.”

“Maybe not,” Patrick shrugs. “This has been a pretty stellar consummation. No?”

“Technically, I’m not sure we’ve actually ’consummated’ yet,” David says. 

“But we’ve _come_ pretty close?” Patrick trolls.

David laughs. “We haven’t come at all! That’s the problem.” The frustrated version of the David Rose Shimmy™ returns and Patrick can’t help but kiss him. 

When they break apart, David reaches for the condom. “Here. Let me put it on you.”

“Oh no, David. The condom is for you.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Patrick leans forwards, this teeth grazing David’s ear and whispers, “Have I told you what I’d do to my brand-new husband if I had him lain out in our bed, looking so fucking gorgeous in yesterday’s wedding suit?”

“I’m listening.” David moves his head, rubbing his stubbled jaw against Patrick’s. 

“First, I’d show him how much I liked his skirt in as many ways as I possibly could.” He rolls his hips and kisses his way back to David’s mouth.

“And then?” 

Patrick presses a quick, firm kiss to David’s lips before sitting back up. “And then, while I rimmed him into oblivion, I’d ready myself to ride his really fucking pretty cock.” 

“Fuuuucck,” David exhales. “That sounds. . .nice. I’d really like to hear more about that.”

“Maybe I can show you?”

“Mmhmm,” David nods. “Please, Patrick.”

Patrick takes the condom and rolls it onto David, lubing him generously before positioning himself above his husband and lowering himself onto David’s cock. David watches as he disappears inch by inch, deep inside Patrick. Twin moans escape their mouths—David reveling in the warm tightness surrounding him and Patrick bottoming out, completely filled, for the first time, by his _husband’s_ cock.

Patrick stills for a moment, letting them both adjust to the sensation. He smiles down at David. “Then I’d roll my hips like so,” Patrick demonstrates, drawing a gorgeous cry from David. He bites back a moan himself as David’s cock presses against him in just the right spot. He starts to move. His thick thighs rise, drawing David’s cock out so that only the head remains buried. Patrick looks at his husband before sinking back down and says, “Then I’d tell my husband just how much I love him.” He takes David’s arms and guides them to the headboard where David grips the bars. His arms raise and his shirt rides up as Patrick rises again. He rides his husband, their eyes locked on each other. With each rise and fall, Patrick recites his husband’s words back at him. 

“I’ve never liked a smile as much as I like yours.” Patrick’s thighs rise and fall. “I’ve never felt as safe as I do when I’m with you.” David’s knuckles whiten, hands gripping tight as he moans in rapturous pleasure. “I’ve never known love like I have when we’re together.” Patrick twists his hips infinitesimally. “It’s not been an easy road for me.” A string of incoherent sex sounds pour from David’s mouth. “But. . . knowing that you will always be there for me at the end of it. . .makes everything okay.” Patrick increases his pace, his balls slapping against David each time he sinks down, each time his husband fills him up. “David Rose, you are my happy ending.” David cries out Patrick’s name when he comes. As Patrick rides David through his aftershocks, he takes hold of his hard, leaking cock, pumping it only thrice before he too is hurtling towards the edge. He leans back slightly, angling his cock towards his own chest and comes on it in thick ribbons.

They both sit there panting, David’s cock softening inside Patrick.

“Holy fuck, Patrick.” He reaches his arms towards his husband. “C’mere and kiss me,” he says, making grabby hands at Patrick. 

“Nope,” Patrick laughs and shakes his head. “I’ve just fucked you, fully clothed, _four_ ways from Sunday without getting any come on your very expensive, dry clean only, three-ply wool mohair skirt.”

“When you put it like that, you can kiss me in the shower.”

“You can count on it.” Patrick grins down at David. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.” Patrick says. David holds the base of the condom as Patrick eases himself off his cock. 

“Just for the record,” David says as they head to the bathroom, “What you said about it being dry clean only. . .That might be the hottest thing you’ve said all day.”

“Unbelievable!" Patrick laughs.

* * *

Later, after they are showered, fed, in pajamas and back in bed, David curls around Patrick, his head laying on Patrick’s chest, a leg over Patrick’s hip. “Hey,” he says sleepily, running his left hand under Patrick’s sleep shirt. It comes to a rest over his heart. “Remind me in the morning to tell you just how much I liked _your_ wedding suit.” He looks up at Patrick, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. 

Patrick drops a kiss to David’s temple and pulls him closer—his left hand rubbing circles on David’s bicep. His gold wedding band glints in his periphery. “I can’t wait to hear all about it, _husband_.” They fall asleep with David’s own gold-ringed finger resting on Patrick’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. <3
> 
> Schitt's Creek and this wonderful community are my happy places.


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